


the mess and the magic

by trixstar



Series: Hubert Week 2020 [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Hubert Week 2020, Magic, Minor Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Snapshots, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:47:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26856157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trixstar/pseuds/trixstar
Summary: Learning faith and learning reason, Hubert discovers, are two very different things.He tries to master both anyway.Written for Hubert Week Day 2 & 3 Prompts: Faith & Reason
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg & Hubert von Vestra, Hubert von Vestra & Everyone, Mercedes von Martritz & Hubert von Vestra
Series: Hubert Week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1955665
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40
Collections: Hubert Week 2020





	the mess and the magic

**Author's Note:**

> OK SO i ignored a lot of the game mechanics with this, as in i had hubert learn spells he normally couldnt cast but thats it pls ignore ehehe <3 this is just hubert and magic i hope y'all enjoy!!
> 
> bold portions signify black magic and italics are for white magic :>

**I. Fire**

Fire is the first bit of black magic Hubert learns to cast.

It’s hot in his hands, burning, scorching. His gloves catch fire and he feels his eyes water at the heat of it, the _pain_. He can’t aim, he tries, but he fails and the fiery ball sputters just a short distance away from him. Fading, fading, gone. What had been destruction was nothing more than a mark on a carpet now, amidst specks of blood and spit.

He expects the gust of wind that knocks him off his feet.

(His mother winces at the sound his back makes against the wall.)

“ _Pathetic_ ,” his father spits vehemently and Hubert grits his teeth. 

He agrees of course. He won’t be any good to the Hresvelg heir like this, unable to cast even the most basic of spells. He was inept this way and his father wasn’t having it. He never did. 

Hubert is _not_ supposed to be weak. He could not afford to be.

He gets up.

“Again,” the Marquis Vestra orders sternly and Hubert nods.

He conjures another ball that burns through his hands and he commits every detail to memory. The blackness of his palms, his tear-streaked reflection in the glass windows. _Fire, fire, fire._

Hubert engraves the first time he holds power at the tips of his fingers in the back of his mind. For safekeeping.

(For assurance.)

_I. Heal_

Manuela is a failure of a teacher. 

Hubert reaches this conclusion rather quickly when she all but wobbles into their first Faith lesson reeking so strongly of alcohol that even Dorothea has to cover her nose. She ends up vomiting all over the podium and Hubert accepts that learning any white magic from this woman would be an impossible feat.

This simply won’t do, he thinks, chancing a glance at Edelgard beside him, face contorted in excellently concealed disgust before a layer of concern quickly masks it as she runs to their teacher’s aid.

His lady, his _everything_. So strong, yet equally fragile. For all her majesty and drive, she is still achingly human. Delicate.

 _Breakable_.

What kind of a retainer would he be if he were to simply stand as she bled before him? Unable to help, to aid the way he’s supposed to? 

“ _Pathetic_ ,” he practically hears his father’s voice ringing in his ears and Hubert curses because he has had enough of _that_ for this lifetime.

He takes a different approach. Observes the Martriz woman from afar. Hubert has long since been aware of her skill. His assessments tell him that she is, by far, the best healer in the student body. Gentle and warm. Hubert sincerely hopes the healing didn’t require the attitude.

From observation alone, he thinks he’s able to grasp the principles of it. The basics of the basics, crudely put. But it isn’t good enough of course and each time Hubert tried, he’d failed. Even a small cut serving to perplex him as it _refused_ to close. He’s missing something. He’s _always_ missing something, but he doesn’t know _what_ it is and it pisses the absolute hell out of hi-

“You’re trying too hard,” comes Mercedes' soft voice and Hubert takes a breath.

“You knew I was watching you.” A statement rather than a question. He isn’t stupid and neither is she.

Mercedes nods as she takes a seat next to him, stone bench moving ever so slightly at the presence. “You’re trying too hard," she repeats.

“Beg pardon?”

“Relax yourself. Don’t focus so much. You’re straining the magic.”

Hubert’s eyes narrow. “ _Straining the magic_ ,” he repeats, sardonic before the woman hushes him.

“Do you want to learn or not?"

Hubert does. Badly. So he nods and does as he’s told. Stupid as he may find it.

An aura washes over him as he feels the cut on his skin close. Had it always been that simple?

“Thank you,” he breathes.

“Not a problem,” Mercedes smiles, “are you interested in learning any more white magic, Hubert?”

“Yes,” he admits, “but I’m sure I can manage without your help.”

Hubert stands before she can say anything else. Something about this woman does not sit right with him. She sees too much. Perceives in an unnaturally accurate way. An advantage as an ally, downfall as a foe. Keeping her company risks Edelgard’s visions, risks revealing himself in a way he did not like to think was possible and he’s never been able to afford that sort of weakness. He doesn’t think he ever will.

His exit is swift and whatever Mercedes calls after him is lost to the wind.

(It’s a shame she has to die, the woman who taught him how to heal.)

**II. Thunder**

Against his father’s wishes, he decides to learn Thunder next.

Bolganone is too advanced for him, he declares, monotone and feeble. He almost thinks he actually deserves the hand that comes flying onto his head, heavy, familiar. Just as the blood in his mouth is his, oozing from the fresh cut on his lip. 

The Marquis Vestra always did like his rings. (More than his own son, he’s certain.)

Hubert does, in the end, think he deserves it.

Because he’d lied. Horribly. Bolganone is not too advanced for him. He’d always been gifted with a knack for black magic. As did every Vestra before him. At his age, the spell wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. If his father believed in him more, he’d probably expected Hubert to know it by now. (But he doesn’t. _Never_.)

Except Hubert is terrified of Bolganone.

Because Fire had burned, had scorched, had hurt. Seared Hubert’s hands into the despicable things he now hides under his gloves. Away from Edelgard’s innocent eyes. Away from the rest of the world.

Proof of his weakness permanently etched into his skin. A reminder. A _warning_.

He doesn’t even want to think about what Bolganone could do to him.

Later, when he releases Thunder for the first time, incinerating a bush and setting the grass around it on fire, he’s not sure this is any better.

_II. Physic_

Recover and Physic are simply more advanced versions of Heal, which had been easy enough to learn even without Mercedes’ help. So it doesn’t come as a surprise to Hubert when he masters the spells quickly, dutifully. (As expected.)

He never tells anyone of his capabilities. He doesn’t see the need to. The Black Eagles already have a healer and, slothful as he may be, Hubert supposes he is capable. 

He will heal when it is needed, unbidden and unannounced. He requires no fanfare or thanks. This magic is a precaution, a safety net. He would not be so careless as to use it whenever, to give away such an important piece of information. _The retainer knows how to heal!_ Surely an unpleasant surprise to enemy forces.

And yet.

Caspar makes a startled noise as he feels a burst of healing engulf him before retaliating against a bandit with a swing of his fist. Bernadetta squeaks when she suddenly feels her energy renewed, allowing her to take aim once more. Edelgard’s wounds fade as she brings an axe down onto her foolish assailant.

They always thank Linhardt and Dorothea after and Hubert has to hold in a chuckle whenever the mages meet their words with confusion. They didn’t even suspect him. Heh. Was it truly so unimaginable that someone as crooked as him could heal? 

Their new professor never says anything, but Hubert _knows_ she knows. Her stare is more piercing than even Mercedes’, cold and calculating in a way he respected.

“You should tell them,” she says to him one day, monotone and cryptic.

He laughs mirthlessly. “What? So I can have their thanks? I do not need it, professor.”

He is met with a blank stare.

“No,” she deadpans, “so that there’s just less confusion on the field,” and, after a pause, Hubert laughs again.

Such emotionless words. 

He’s glad she’s on their side.  
  


**III. Wind**

Excalibur had been his father’s specialty. 

The most advanced wind magic, Hubert felt the brunt of it nearly everyday. Forcing the air out of his lungs and slamming him into walls, to floors. Anywhere and anytime. Hubert was not safe from his father’s fits of rage, of boredom.

He likes to think about how it’d feel to push back sometimes, late at night as he lays in bed. 

How would it feel to send a gust back just once? However weak it may be? How would it feel to retaliate? To send his father flying? Hear _his_ yells as his back met marble and loom over him the way he always did to Hubert?

Luckily, he does not need to imagine for long.

Because one day, he sends his father skidding across the room. Yelling as he made contact with the wall before sliding down onto his ass and looking at Hubert like he’s never seen him before. He thinks he sees rage flicker in the man’s eyes and Hubert remembers Fire with a wry smile. 

He expects a smack to his head, welcomes it even. Proof that he’d done what he did, but it never comes.

Instead the Marquis Vestra stomps over to him only to ruffle his hair affectionately.

“That’s my boy,” he gruffs, voice leaking pride and grinning like he expects Hubert to grin back, like he didn’t know how badly his son wanted to punch his crooked yellow teeth out.

Hubert decides very quickly that this is as far as him learning wind magic will go.

  
_III. Noseferatu_

Noseferatu gives and takes. Recovering half of the pain you’ve inflicted and, simple as it was, Hubert thinks it may just be his favorite white magic.

It’s ironic in a cruel sense. Having to hurt more, so that you could be healed just as much. It comforts him knowing that something as beautiful could be just as ugly, more suited to him than any of the white magic he’s learned so far.

“You use that spell a lot,” Ferdinand points out one day on the battlefield, conversationally, as if his face is not splattered with blood.

Such casual discussion did not seem fitting for the landscape they find themselves in, but there’d been a battle and they’d won. This is something he can finally bring to Edelgard, if only to alleviate the sadness she still harbored over Byleth falling into a ravine and never coming out. A win, Hubert would count it as such. Despite all the mangled bodies strewn across the hills.

“It’s… handy.” An understatement.

Ferdinand hums. His eyes seem to be glued to the horse carcasses being wheeled off to Goddess knows where. “I did not know you even knew how to use white magic.”

(A _distraction_ , Hubert realizes. This conversation is a _distraction_.)

Hubert shrugs. “It’s become a necessity.” It always has and it always will be.

Give and take. Such is the way of war.

(The horse carcasses are burnt. Ferdinand weeps. Hubert moves on. Distractions never work.)

  
  
**IV. Bolganone**

Hubert finally learns Bolganone on a rainy day.

It’s part of the test. Creating a fiery fissure in the earth as the heavens cried. His father stands behind him, gaze expectant as Hubert stared down the wild boar they’d captured solely for this purpose. The poor thing wouldn’t stand a chance. Hubert has this tome down to a T. Add in the fact that he is furious and this boar’s death is practically assured.

He hopes the creatures in hell will enjoy the meal.

Without warning he casts the spell, sending the animal into the ground with a yell and a manic grin. Falling, falling, _gone_. Its cries are swallowed by the elements and the sound of the Marquis Vestra clapping.

Hubert does not tell him it had been him he’d imagined sending down into the fiery pits.

(Bolganone is how they find Hubert. Nearing Faerghus, a path is littered with cracks and holes leading down, down, down. They find his frail, shaking form near one of them and suddenly his father is no longer proud.)

_IV. Fortify_

Fortify takes everything from you.

A spell that healed any and all allies within a wide perimeter. Hubert did not think he’d ever have to use it, but he’d learnt it anyway. Just in case. He needs to be prepared for the worst. It’s his job to. And the worst has made itself increasingly present ever since damned Dimitri resurfaced.

Linhardt is bleeding out a ways away from Hubert, feebly trying to heal himself before ultimately giving up as Sylvain’s horse nears his crippled body. Caspar will not get to him in time. No matter how fast he ran or screamed.

Petra is nearer to Hubert, allowing for a good view of the gash on her stomach and her gritted teeth as Ashe silently walks up to her, kicking away her swords. The boy is foolish for crying about what has to happen, weak and ill-fitted for battle.

Hubert will not be responsible for any losses.

From his vantage point next to Bernadetta he casts Fortify, ignoring the girl’s wide, questioning gaze and promptly collapsing in her arms.

He still sees it happen.

Sees Linhardt gather just enough power to cast Wind to push Sylvain directly in the path of Caspar’s fury before Ferdinand snatches him up to somewhere safe. 

Sees Petra regain her footing and take advantage of her foe’s surprise to stab him with both her swords.

Ashe and Sylvain are dead.

Before Hubert blacks out, he realizes he is responsible for those losses.

(How will Mercedes feel, he wonders, knowing his power to heal is what caused her allies to fall?)

**V. Ragnarok**

He decides to go all the way with Ragnarok.

The highest tier of fire magic. Blizzard, Fimbulvetr, ice magic simply didn’t suit Hubert. Having been taught to burn, Hubert saw no value in learning how to freeze. Besides, fire is more dangerous and when has Hubert ever gone for the weaker, more foolish option?

His father does not accompany him into the forest to test it. He’s kept his distance ever since Wind and Bolganone and Hubert takes this as a sign that the Marquis has finally acknowledged his skill enough to fear him for it, just as the other residents of House Vestra did. About time.

Fear, Hubert has learned, made for an excellent weapon. And being able to instill that into his father? 

The start of a long list of accomplishments.

He casts Ragnarok with a sickening roar that echoes for miles as it lights the trees on their property on fire, burning one after another. It doesn’t take long for it to blaze through the path Hubert set for it. 

A ring of fire around House Vestra. His farewell before Garreg Mach. 

His farewell before the new world.

_V. Seraphim_

Seraphim is a basic attack spell. Similar to Noseferatu, minus the very essential healing aspect of it and the fact that it is more effective against monsters.

But magic is versatile, magic is flexible. Just because it is simple does not mean it doesn’t have its uses.

Seraphim is what Hubert uses to ward away birds from his and Ferdinand’s tea parties. Seraphim is what he uses to destroy Demonic beasts. It is what he uses to send cowardly horses charging into battle. What he uses to bring down pegasi and wyverns from the sky. He does a great many things.

Hubert is versatile, Hubert is flexible. 

He has his uses.

**VI. Meteor**

He learns Meteor from Dorothea.

She’d seen him practicing Sagittae in the training grounds and decided to enlighten Hubert with knowledge of a more powerful spell, more destructive than a rain of arrows. He takes his new classmate’s offer gracefully after declining several times. Edelgard had said to make friends. Might as well start now.

“Hubie,” Dorothea begins after their lesson, “do you know why I learned this spell?”

He shrugs. He sees no other reason other than the fact that it is powerful and Dorothea had been weak growing up. A necessity. Assurance. One could never have enough of that.

When he tells her just as much she nods, smiling sadly. “That’s right. I needed it to survive, you see. Which sounds ridiculous in retrospect. A ball of destruction seems a bit excessive for a poor girl’s woes, don’t you think?”

Hubert meets her gaze with a careful look. He’s learnt that Dorothea was a dangerous conversationalist. One wrong word could incur her wrath and one that is _too_ right could lead her to completely unraveling you. Though he had faith in his defenses, he’d rather not take that chance.

“You did what you thought was necessary. I see no fault in that,” are the words he settles on.

Dorothea studies him quietly.

“I did. Now, I just wanted to ask,” she holds his stare, “what is it that you find necessary?”

Power. Victory. The collapse of the Church. Rhea’s downfall. Revenge. Justice. Destruction. Death.

“Whatever my lady requires.”

An answer that encapsulated all of the above.

_VI. Aura_

He’d seen Mercedes use Aura before she’d fallen.

The final battle is a desolate, bloody place. Corpses strewn everywhere and static seemingly filling the air like the suffocating smog Hubert has forced himself to breathe in. (Pain is necessary for immunity, just as it is for most things.)

Rings of light shine across the red skies and somehow Hubert just knows it’s her. 

He spots her atop a hill surrounded by their forces. A handful of them collapse before her, having been hit by the spell. Their bodies join Ingrid’s, Felix’s, and Annette’s broken ones. Ah. That’s five lions down.

He learned Aura a while back too. Simply because Bernadetta had pointed it out and said it looked pretty and he’d thought _why not?_ A rare moment of meaningless indulgence resulted in his mastery of the spell.

Now he’s here and it’s almost symbolic.

She lifts her head to meet his gaze, the large stretch of land between them doing nothing to shield him from her piercing stare. The magic in her hands fades before she falls to her knees. Hubert knows magic exhaustion when he sees it and this, by far, seems to be the most difficult one he’s had to bear witness to.

It’s a shame.

He lifts his hands, summoning the rings, feeling the white magic coursing through his fingers.

Mercedes closes her eyes.

Falling, falling, _gone_.

(Rings as halos for the woman who’d always been called an angel.)

**VII. Agnea’s Arrow**

Sometimes he daydreams of using Agnea’s Arrow on the Archbishop to get it over with.

Unbecoming of him, he knows. He’s supposed to be paying attention in class, not entertaining silly daydreams of easier ways out. The gall of him to let his mind wander with his lady seated right beside him. Edelgard had told him to indulge, but he doubts she had meant it this way.

Regardless.

Hubert allows himself to muse what casting a sweltering flame and reducing Rhea into ashes would entail. How much better the world could be. How much happier Edelgard would be. 

The most powerful form of black magic thrown at the holiest person in the country. Agnea’s Arrow. He’d aim it right at her chest-

“Hubert?”

He shakes himself.

“Yes, Lady Edelgard?”

His liege cocks his head at him. “You seem distracted. Are you alright?”

Flames, he’s let her worry. Hubert shakes his head gravely. “I’m fine. My apologies, my lady. I simply let my mind wander.”

“Oh?” Edelgard looks interested, “A rare occurrence. What was it that had you so distracted?”

The Archbishop shot through the heart and falling, falling-

A bitter grin. “It’s nothing.”

_VII. Abraxas_

In Hubert’s humble opinion, Abraxas comes across as some form of divine judgement.

Advanced attack magic that called light from the heavens down on foes, as if the Goddess (if She ever existed) had smote them Herself. As if the Goddess actually cared enough for Her creations to punish them. 

Hubert had learned Abraxas solely for the elimination of religious rebels.

He’s sadistic like that. He doubts anyone is surprised. No better way to break loyalists than to mock them with their deity and rub salt into their wounds. As a master of torture and whittling down even the toughest of suspects, he of all people is to be trusted on this.

Ferdinand thinks it's distasteful, but Edelgard had said that she hoped Hubert would somehow find joy in his lofty new position.

So.

If the Imperial Spymaster is found laughing to himself as he interrogates rebels before a burst of light engulfs the cell every so often then that’s no one’s business but his own.

**VIII. Dark Spikes**

Hubert had always kept his study into dark magic as a secret.

It begins in the restricted corner of the Vestra library. Away from the black magic tomes he’s supposed to be studying, he finds himself fascinated by these ones. Black magic and dark magic... so there’d always been a difference. The latter is more dangerous, more deadly, hidden away for a reason.

He learns them anyway.

Miasma and Mire, he masters alongside Fire. Banshee and Death with Ragnarok and Meteor respectively. It’s not until he is enrolled in the Officers Academy that he starts using these spells. In addition to his black magic, he makes sure he is a force to be reckoned with. Feared and powerful.

But he avoids using dark magic.

The Church frowned upon it after all and they’re undercover, so Hubert plays nice, follows the rules even when Hapi and Lysithea break them right in front of him. They’re brave girls, he’ll give them that, but it’s not their time. The former had been thrown into the Abyss for a reason, the latter… well. He refuses to think about it.

The restrictions don’t stop him from learning though. In the dead of the night under a spell of invisibility, he tucks himself in the darkest corners of the library. Sometimes he will roam the Abyss, sometimes he will browse through Anna’s secret menagerie. He learns. He masters. He becomes stronger. He waits.

Until he doesn’t have to anymore.

He hones Dark Spikes the day before the Garreg Mach siege.

He casts it for the first time on the next, lifting his head and aiming at the dragon.

_VIII. Warp_

Among all the white magic spells he knows, Warp is the one Hubert uses the most.

Warp is for teleporting to advantageous points on the battlefield. Warp is for teleporting soldiers into a good place for an ambush. For transporting medics to the wounded and vice versa. For delivering essential documents faster. For efficiency, convenience.

Warp is for saving his friends from getting killed. Warp is for putting himself between them and a foe, ready to retaliate. Warp is for chasing after Bernadetta when she runs away from him. For bringing Caspar and Linhardt back into a meeting room after they’d run away. It’s for banishing Dorothea’s ruder suitors and those who discriminated Petra into crevices unknown. For escorting Ferdinand to his bedroom after Hubert finds him asleep at his desk. For escaping Edelgard’s hold when she hugs him for an uncomfortable amount of time.

Warp is for home. Leaving, going to, and staying.

**Author's Note:**

> in case it wasnt clear i essentially had the black magic portions set from hubert's childhood to the start of the war and the white magic portions (with the exception of the first two) spanning from the war to the end of it! also all descriptions of the magic i based off of the fire emblem wiki (my lifeline for this fic HAHA)
> 
> anyway i loved writing this and i cant believe its only 3.8k words long tbh it felt longer but i guess thats what happens when you write in snippets :-0 thanks for reading!
> 
> kudos and comments appreciated!
> 
> [my twitter!](https://twitter.com/trixstarsss)


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